Feel the Burn (Dragonkin #8)

by G. A. Aiken

  “Barbarian!” she heard roared at her, and Kachka looked over her shoulder to see the Dragon Queen.

  “What?” Kachka asked when the queen continued to glare at her.

  “You hit me with that rib bone.”

  “Then you should move quicker.”

  Gaius snorted. “You lot are killing me.”

  “That’s my seat,” the queen announced. Then she . . . waited? Kachka didn’t know.

  Pointing at an empty seat at another table, Kachka said, “Go over there.”

  “That is not my seat, peasant. You’re in my seat.”

  “I am sure your large royal ass can fit just as fine in that chair as it can fit in this one.”

  The queen took in a deep breath and Kachka went for her sword, but the queen’s mate quickly slapped his hand over Rhiannon’s mouth, dragging her away while Gaius quickly caught Kachka’s hand and held it in place to prevent her from pulling her sword. How many times would that happen in one evening?

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Gaius gently chided.

  “Bitchy royals do not scare me.”

  “Oh, she should. Not only can she tear you to ribbons with her claws, she can also turn you into ash where you sit, using only her whip-like flame, or turn your blood to molten lava with her magicks. So, if I were you, I’d be glad that Bercelak didn’t want her sitting anywhere near me.”

  Kachka released her sword and took several handfuls of ribs from a plate offered by one of the servants.

  “Why does Bercelak not want you sitting next to big-assed queen?” she asked.

  “I’m not really clear why any of them act like that. It’s not like I’ve tried to fuck any of their Southland females.”

  “Are you sure?” Kachka asked.

  Gaius glanced over at Annwyl, who sat on the other side of him. She had her legs raised, her knees pressed against the table, her heels pressed against the seat, and a book balanced on her kneecaps. While she read the book and turned pages with one hand, she held a half-eaten turkey leg in the other. She had part of it in her mouth, noisily sucking the marrow from it.

  When Gaius looked back at Kachka, he replied, “Oh . . . I’m so very sure.”

  Once the dinner was done, tables were pulled back and musicians began to play. Izzy and Gwenvael the Slag were the first out on the floor, something no one seemed surprised at.

  The Riders went into a small huddle over in a corner before Zoya Kolesova marched out. When she returned about a half hour later, she held several bottles covered in dirt.

  “Whatever you do,” Talan suddenly whispered to Gaius, “don’t drink that. You’ll regret it forever.”

  Zoya dropped the bottles on an empty table, then grabbed two. She walked over to Briec, for some unknown reason, and yanked away the cup of wine he’d been drinking, tossing it to the floor.

  The dragon gawked at her—shocked she’d dare touch anything of his and clearly ready to blast her through the wall with his flame—before she shoved a bottle into his hand.

  “Here, beautiful one,” Zoya told him. “Drink this. Beauty such as yours only deserves best.”

  Then Zoya squeezed his ass and Briec’s eyes grew wide in panic.

  “Come!” Zoya ordered the room. “Everyone drink! Especially all these pretty boys!”

  “Yeahhhh,” Talan said on a harsh breath. “I’m out of here.”

  Gaius watched Prince Talan quickly cut through to the back and disappear out the door. When Gaius turned around again, Kachka stood in front of him, a bottle in her hand.

  “Are you brave enough, royal?” she asked, holding up the bottle.

  “Brave enough? Or stupid enough?”

  “Sometimes,” she said, pulling the cork out, “there is truly no difference.”

  Kachka began to pour some of her people’s ale into Talaith’s chalice. But she’d barely put in a splash before Briec the Mighty physically lifted his mate and moved her away.

  “Hey!”

  “No. Just . . . no,” he insisted, carrying her off.

  “What’s that look for?” Annwyl asked, waving off the ale when Kachka offered it.

  “She allows male to tell her what she can and cannot drink? My mother cut one of her husband’s throats once because he suggested she had ‘had enough.’ She did not kill him, but he never questioned her choice of drink again.”

  “Your mother was . . . unpleasant.”

  Kachka didn’t bother to argue that point.

  “And Talaith can’t hold her drink,” Annwyl went on. “He’s just saving himself the bother of having to carry her to bed tonight while she miscounts absolutely everything. Loudly. The drunker she gets, the worse her math gets.”

  The queen’s dragon mate passed them. He signaled to Annwyl with a slight jerk of his head toward the door at the back of the hall.

  Suddenly smiling, the queen put down her chalice of whatever weak Southland wine she’d been drinking.

  “See ya,” she said.

  “Wait.”

  The queen stopped. “What?”

  “You go to fuck him?”

  “Unless he’s calling me back there to yell at me about Talwyn . . . most likely.”

  “Do you not mind that he is not human?”

  Annwyl put her hands on her hips. “Is this an Abomination question? Because those just make me angry.”

  “No. I do not care about you and your unholy children.”

  “I would never call my son or Rhi un—”

  “But Fearghus has scales. That does not bother you?”

  “Oh.” Annwyl grinned, chuckled. “That.” She shrugged her big shoulders. “I find his scales beautiful. Human or dragon, he’s always been beautiful to me. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. Watching my sister, she seems very happy.”

  Annwyl frowned, head tilting to the side. “Does she? Really?”

  “For Daughter of Steppes . . . she is happy.”

  “Well . . . if you say so.”

  The queen followed after her mate, disappearing through the back door. Kachka stared after her for a long time, wondering if she was being a little too . . . harsh about dragons. Unlike her mother, she was willing to change her opinion when it was truly warranted. She just didn’t know if it was.

  Once she became bored staring at the empty doorway, she studied the room. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. Even the Rebel King, laughing at whatever Gwenvael the Handsome was saying to him.

  Kachka lost track of how long she stared at him, but he seemed to sense her, glancing at her across the room. He raised a brow, silently asking if all was right. She gave a small head shake to let him know she was fine. Then he nodded toward Zoya, who had some poor young soldier practically pinned against the wall, her big arms caging him in from either side as she talked to him. About what, Kachka didn’t dare to guess.

  If only the woman hadn’t healed so damn quickly. Or, you know . . . at all . . .

  Celyn eased up behind his mate and kissed her neck.

  “Your sister done slapping you around?” Elina asked.

  “She’s so drunk now, I’m sure she’s done slapping everyone around. And she didn’t slap me around,” he argued. “We had what my father calls a Cadwaladr Disagreement.”

  “Southlander way of saying she slapped you around.”

  “Thanks for that.” Celyn leaned his butt against a nearby table and pulled Elina close, her back against his chest. “Your sister seems quiet tonight.”

  “There is much on her mind. No time for dancing, I think. She will hunt later. She works out much when she hunts.”

  “You two look for any excuse to hunt things down.”

  “We are good at it.”

  Celyn rested his chin on Elina’s shoulder, his arms loose around her body, and he asked the question that had been plaguing him for a few weeks now.

  “You wish you were going with your sister, don’t you? To make a name for yourself.” He’d understand if that’s what Elina want
ed to do. She’d be no different from nearly every one of his kin.

  So, when she turned her head to look at him, Celyn readied himself for her answer.

  “Truth?”

  “Of course.”

  “I would rather set myself on fire than go with my sister in this task she undertakes for Annwyl.”

  Celyn reared back a bit. “I . . . uh . . .”

  “You are disappointed in me.”

  “No. No, not at all. I’m actually relieved. But, I thought—”

  “My sister and I are close. As close as you and Brannie. But we are vastly different from each other. There are some things I just cannot do.”

  Celyn kissed the side of her head and hugged her closer. “And to be quite honest with you, Elina Shestakova, I’ll be forever grateful for that fact.”

  Gaius stood back and watched the Riders show Izzy and Branwen the dances of their people. As drunk as Izzy and Branwen now were, it was so much more than simply entertaining.

  “Why do you not drink or dance, foreign king?”

  Gaius glanced down at Kachka. She stood next to him, her pert ass resting against the thick wood table. “Because I am a foreign king not in his homeland.”

  “But you are safe here.”

  “I am safe from my enemies. But I don’t think anyone’s really safe from Annwyl.”

  “Good point.”

  He studied the group dancing and clapping. “Where is Tatyana?”

  Kachka looked up at him. “You noticed?”

  “I may have one eye, but I notice lots of things. You live longer that way.”

  “She has gone to town. Talk to people in pubs. That is what she does. She talks to people. She gets information. She is very good.”

  “When you’re done here, you know, she won’t want to go back.”

  “I know.” Kachka sighed. “She hugs, you know.”

  Gaius laughed. “What?”

  “She hugs. Who hugs?”

  “I don’t know.... Everyone?”

  “Not Riders. What is there to hug about? You hug your children, of course. When they are young and needy. You hug your horse, if it lets you. You do not hug each other. It is so weak.”

  “It’s not weak. It’s affectionate.”

  “Which is weak. Affectionate is for the weak. The strong do not need.”

  They silently watched Zoya Kolesova dance by, a very large soldier in her arms. Since he didn’t seem to want to dance, she hugged him off the ground as she moved by.

  “Zoya seems to like to hug.”

  “The Kolesovas—”

  “Have a use if you would just look beyond how annoying their good humor may be.”

  “Is this kingly advice?” she asked.

  “It is. The first thing my father taught me was how to use what you have access to. Nothing is worse than trying to force others into roles that do not fit them.”

  “What role would you fit me in?”

  Gaius didn’t hesitate. “Lord Executioner.”

  Kachka nodded. “You are good.”

  Leaning against one of the open front doors of the Great Hall, Gaius watched a weaving Éibhear carry his human mate up the stairs to their rooms. The big Blue had tossed a passed-out Izzy over his shoulder, but he wasn’t holding on much better. Gaius thought about helping the young prince, then thought... “Eh.”

  The party had been quite . . . raucous. A little more lowbrow than what Gaius was used to. Of course, in the Provinces, parties involved actors, storytellers, dancers, musicians, poets . . . and the entertainment and feasting went on for days. Then, of course, there were the gladiator games. He’d changed them a bit, though, since he’d become king. They no longer involved slaves. They were no longer used for punishment or torture. Many—mostly his aunt—thought this meant that they would run out of gladiators. They were wrong. With a healthy purse to win and a chance to become a beloved champion, they had more than enough men, and some women, willing to battle to the death without chaining them in their off time.

  Still, this had been . . . fun.

  Gaius watched a few servants come in to start cleaning up now that almost everyone had either gone to bed or was passed out on the floor. While they worked, Gaius silently watched as Prince Fearghus and the queen walked into the hall together. They held hands but said nothing, smiling at each other like two youngsters in love.

  It was a little embarrassing, considering who they were. The names and reputations they’d built for themselves over the years. But Annwyl stopped at the bottom of the stairs and did something extraordinary. She ordered the servants to bed.

  “You can clean it up tomorrow,” she told them when they began to argue. “Trust me. You don’t want to clean around these big oafs passed out on the floor. Wait until they get up, throw up, and go to bed.”

  Agreeing with that logic, the servants went off and Annwyl the Bloody, like a much younger woman, jumped up so that she was on Fearghus the Destroyer’s back, her legs around his waist. Her arms loose around his shoulders.

  Laughing, they walked up the stairs, Fearghus—most likely purposely—stepping on the head of one of the Mì-runach who’d passed out on the steps.

  And for some unknown reason, Gaius had the strangest feeling. Of regret?

  No. No, no. That was impossible. He hadn’t fallen that far, had he?

  Deciding it was best to go to bed since he was getting a little maudlin, Gaius walked to the stairs and carefully stepped over those who’d passed out on the steps. As he neared the bedroom he’d been given by Lady Dagmar, he heard noises that he assumed were coming from the queen’s bed chamber. But when he pushed open his door, he realized he was wrong.

  Tragically, disgustingly, appallingly wrong.

  Slamming the door closed, Gaius went to Kachka’s room but only found the Khoruzhaya siblings and Marina Aleksandrovna passed out on the bed. He slammed that door, too, and went to Elina’s room. He pushed the door open without knocking and ignored the roar of the dragon getting his cock sucked.

  “Where’s your sister?” he demanded.

  “Get out!”

  “Quiet, boy, before I burn this house down!”

  Celyn’s cock popped out of Elina’s mouth and she calmly replied, “She went hunting.”

  “It’s pitch black out.”

  “She is Daughter of Steppes. We do not let darkness stop us from—”

  “Oh, shut up. Where did she go?”

  “Go east from front doors.” She waved Gaius away. “Now go. I must finish sucking his cock or he gets very cranky.”

  “I’m past cranky!”

  “See?” Elina asked flatly.

  Gaius slammed the door shut and stomped down the stairs, out the doors, and headed east. He stalked for a while until he heard something charging at him in the darkness. He turned just in time to see the eyes of a boar shining at him.

  In a rage, Gaius blasted it with his flame, turning it to ash in seconds.

  “That was mine,” Kachka complained as she moved out of the darkness, where the moon above made her easier to see.

  “You,” he snarled.

  “What did I do?”

  “You brought Zoya Kolesova here. And now she’s in my room, fucking some poor soldier who, I have to say, appeared quite terrified by the entire experience.”

  Kachka stared at Gaius for a moment, and then she burst into laughter. So hard that she was bent over at the waist, dropping her bow and quiver to the ground at her feet.

  “What is so gods-damn funny?”

  Arms around her middle, Kachka stood up, but she was laughing so hard, she couldn’t speak.

  “It’s not funny! I am a king. Kings get their own room, heartless female! But what they don’t get is forced to share a bed with Zoya Kolesova and her obvious victim!”

  Kachka stepped over her weapon and went to Gaius. She placed her hands on his chest and looked up at him. She opened her mouth and Gaius thought she was about to apologize. She didn’t.

  She di
d, however, keep laughing!

  Only now she was leaning against him. Laughing.

  “I’m the One-eyed Rebel King,” Gaius complained. “People, everywhere, fear me. Fear my wrath. But then I come to the Southlands and it all falls apart.”

  Kachka stepped back and grasped Gaius’s hand, pulling him.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, but she didn’t answer.

  Because she was still laughing!

  Kachka led Gaius to her favorite tree here in these Southland woods. She’d taught herself every inch of this territory since coming here with her sister. That way she could maneuver in the day or night.

  When she reached her spot, she stopped and faced the king.

  “There was so much grunting,” he complained about finding Zoya in his bed. “So much grunting.”

  “Stop it,” she ordered him around more of the laughter that seemed to annoy him so. “If you want me to stop laughing, you must stop it.”

  “I’m trying to wipe it from my mind. I’m hoping talking about it helps. But I fear nothing will help.”

  He looked so despondent; she felt nothing but humor at his misery.

  Not that she blamed him. She couldn’t imagine how horrified she’d have been to find Zoya Kolesova in her tent . . . grunting.

  “Look,” she said, patting his chest, “I understand. I, too, would be filled with horror if I saw what you have seen. But you must let it go. Or you will never sleep again.”

  “I walked in on your sister sucking Celyn’s cock. He was not happy.”

  “Did you torture poor Celyn?”

  Gaius shrugged. “But the Southland males make it so very easy.” He finally glanced around. “What are we doing here?”

  “We will stay here tonight. You and I.”

  “So you’re not going to get Zoya out of my room?”

  Kachka stared at him. “Do you really want to sleep in bed that Zoya Kolesova just fucked in?”

  “Excellent point,” he conceded.

  “Besides, we can fuck here under stars.”

  Gaius blinked. “We can?”

  “Why would we not?”